"If you are," Selingman declared, "it will be your own doing, and it will simply be the most criminal act of this generation. Germany has nothing but friendship for England. I ask you, what British interests are threatened by this inevitable clash between the Slav and the Teuton? It is miserable enough for France to be dragged in. It would be lunacy for England. Therefore, though it is true that serious matters are pending, though, alas! I must return at once to see what help I can afford my country, never for a moment believe, any of you, that there exists the slightest chance of war between Germany and England." "Then I don't see," Mrs. Barlow sighed, "why we shouldn't have a rubber of bridge." "Let us," Selingman assented. "It is a very reasonable suggestion. It will divert our thoughts. Here is the afternoon paper. Let us first see whether there is any further news." It was Mrs. Paston Benedek who opened it. She stared at the first sheet for a moment with eyes which were almost dilated. Then she looked around. Her voice sounded unnatural. "Look!" she cried. "Francis Norgate--Mr. Francis Norgate has committed suicide in his rooms!" "It is not possible!" Selingman exclaimed. They all crowded around the paper. The announcement was contained in a few lines only. Mr. Francis Norgate had been discovered shot through the heart in his sitting-room at the Milan Court, with a revolver by his side. There was a letter addressed to his wife, who had left the day before for Paris. No further particulars could be given of the tragedy. The little group of men and women all looked at one another in a strange, questioning manner. For a moment the war cloud seemed to have passed even from their memories. It was something newer and in a sense more dramatic, this. Norgate--one of themselves! Norgate, who had played bridge with them day after day, had been married only a week or so ago--dead, under the most horrible of all conditions! And Baring, only a few weeks before! There was an uneasiness about which no one could put into words, vague suspicions, strange imaginings. "It's only three weeks," some one muttered, "since poor Baring shot himself! What the devil does it mean? Norgate--why, the fellow was full of common sense." "He was fearfully cut up," some one interposed, "about that Berlin affair." "But he was just married," Mrs. Paston Benedek reminded them, "married to the most charming woman in Europe,--rich, too, and noble. I saw them only two days ago together. They were the picture of happiness. This is too terrible. I am going into the other room to sit down. Please forgive me. Mr. Selingman, will you give me your arm?" She passed into the little drawing-room, almost dragging her companion. She closed the door behind them. Her eyes were brilliant. The words came hot and quivering from her lips. "Listen!" she ordered. "Tell me the truth. Was this suicide or not?"